Chapter 6 Who are you

Vivianne yanked her arm free-first from Dominic, then from Timothy.

"I'm not a trophy for either of you," she said quietly, but the weight behind her voice cracked like thunder.

The two men stared at her, neither moving.

She turned and walked away.

Heels clicking.

Back straight.

But her insides? A goddamn mess.

Why did his touch still burn? Why did it feel like coming home and falling apart all at once?

She could still feel the ghost of Dominic's fingers against her skin. The way he'd looked at her-not like a stranger. No. Not at all. Like a man who had tasted her soul before and was trying to remember the flavor.

Behind her, Timothy cursed under his breath and followed.

Dominic didn't move. He just stood there, fists clenched, heart racing.

Vivianne Chase.

She wasn't supposed to get to him like that.

But she had. And she knew it.

As she disappeared into the crowd, his phone vibrated. A message from Hailey.

Where are you, babe?

He didn't reply.

He was too busy watching a woman walk away with his rival...

Wearing a scent that clung to his lungs like smoke.

Wearing his attention like it belonged to her.

And a smile-barely there-that looked like a secret she once whispered against his skin.

Her back was turned, but her effect wasn't.

It lingered.

Vivianne walked like she had no reason to look back.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

And worst of all-like she didn't care.

Timothy Brown wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, and Dominic's jaw flexed.

He didn't understand this feeling.

It wasn't jealousy-it was deeper. A gnawing pull, like something that had once been his... and still was.

Then his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, snapping him out of it.

Hailey.

He considered ignoring it.

Then answered with zero warmth.

"Babe! I missed you sooo much," she gushed, tone syrupy. "Are you coming to see me tonight?"

His eyes stayed on the door Vivianne had vanished through.

His grip tightened around the phone.

"No, Hailey. I'm at somewhere important."

He didn't wait for her reply.

Later That Night...

The gala was over. But the night hadn't ended-not in his head.

The driver drove in silence while Dominic sat in the back, staring out the window.

The city lights blurred like they were mocking him-fast, pretty, untouchable.

His tie was loosened. The top button undone.

But his mind was still too tight-wrapped around her.

Her voice. Her eyes. The scent of her perfume still clinging faintly to his suit.

And that moment-before Timothy interrupted-when he almost kissed her.

Why did she feel familiar?

Why did she look at him like she knew something he didn't?

Back home, he poured himself a drink. One sip. Then another.

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

He undressed slowly, tossed his jacket carelessly, and collapsed onto the bed. Still thinking of her.

Vivianne Chase.

Who the hell was she?

---

The Next Morning...

He walked into his company's sleek, glass-walled boardroom-clean-cut in a charcoal suit, fresh white shirt, no nonsense in his expression.

Today was the shareholders' meeting.

Big money. Big project. Project Iris.

He was ready to impress.

But then he saw her. Sitting two seats down. Calm. Composed. Dangerous in black.

His steps faltered for just a second.

Her eyes met his briefly-cool and unreadable.

He powered through his presentation, speaking about Iris' breakthrough in behavioral A.I. tracking, city infrastructure support, and risk forecasting. His voice was sharp. Confident.

Then she stood.

He hadn't invited her to speak.

She walked to the front like it was her company.

Clicked the remote. Replaced his slide with a projection chart he hadn't seen.

Precise. Brutal. Elegant.

"Mr. Wolfe," she began, voice like honey and steel, "Your project is ambitious. But with this budget? We'll be 12.4% over within six months and bleeding profit by Q3."

The room fell silent.

She flipped to the next slide-restructured numbers, revised implementation, smarter timelines. Board members began murmuring in agreement.

And then she turned to them all, smiling politely.

"I apologize for not introducing myself earlier."

She straightened her blouse. "I'm Mrs. Chase. A shareholder in this company with over 38% control."

Gasps. A few widened eyes. A pen dropped.

Dominic's stare burned into her. Jaw locked.

---

Later - Inside His Office

She sat on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, calm as ever.

Dominic stood near the window, watching her like she was an equation that didn't make sense.

"You're everywhere..." he muttered, eyes dark. "What do you want, Mrs. Chase?"

She tilted her head, playful. "Coincidence, maybe?"

"Nah," he said lowly, walking closer. "It's not. You've been in every room I enter. You have a boyfriend, don't you? Timothy Brown. Yet you're always around me."

She smirked, slow and dangerous. "Seeing me everywhere you go sends a bad message?"

"What kind?" she purred, sliding one heel off her foot-then the other-her stockinged foot tracing up the inside of his leg.

His breath caught.

Her finger reached for his undone tie, pulling it gently, as she leaned in just enough to let her lips hover over his cheek.

Then she whispered-

"The kind that says maybe you're still mine..."

He didn't mean to grab her-but his hand moved on its own.

One firm grip under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. The shift in air was instant.

Dominic leaned in, voice like velvet dipped in warning.

"You're quite the charm, Mrs. Chase..." he murmured.

"Where are you from? Because I don't know much about you. And I hate that."

Then, without waiting for an answer, he let her go and walked toward the cabinet behind him. Poured two fingers of whiskey-golden and neat.

"Down, down, down..." She murmured, as Dominic offered her a glass

She took it without hesitation.

"I can tell you're Italian."

Vivianne arched a brow over the rim of her glass. "And I can tell you're American. Proud. Arrogant. Loud."

That made him chuckle. Deep. Dangerous.

He lit his cigarette with a flick of his thumb and exhaled slow smoke that curled around her like a threat.

"Mmm. Yes. You're noisy."

That word-noisy-hit something inside her.

Vivianne stilled.

It wasn't the insult. It was the tone. Familiar. Almost too familiar. Like an echo of something from a life she'd buried.

Her lips curled into a slow smile. She walked to him, took the glass from his hand, drank straight from it.

Then she turned her back to him, her voice cool and smooth.

"Let's talk about you, Dominic Wolfe. Enough about me."

He leaned back against the table edge, eyes on her legs as they crossed again.

"Alright. What do you want to know, huh?"

She turned halfway, meeting his gaze through her lashes. "You're married, right?"

He scoffed. "No. I'm not."

A beat passed. Then a devilish grin. "Why? Fallen for me?"

She turned fully this time, walking up until she was toe-to-toe with him.

"Over my dead body, Mr. Wolfe," she said, voice dripping disdain. "I will fall for no one. Especially not you."

A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. The tension between them crackled like static.

"Then why are you still here?" he asked, leaning down until his breath hit her lips.

"Still drinking my whiskey? Still playing this game?"

She didn't flinch.

"Because unlike you," she said, raising her chin, "I don't walk away from a challenge."

He chuckled, low and slow.

"Good. Then stay."

He took the glass back, draining the last drop.

"The day's just getting started."

But it didn't take long before Vivianne walked away from the company. After everything, she couldn't keep herself from him - stupid, reckless, magnetic.

The rest of the hours, she buried herself in the noise of her manufacturing facility, machinery humming louder than the thoughts in her head.

When night fell, and she finally drove home, Dominic's voice still haunted every corner of her mind.

She clicked the front gate open, her heels sharp against cold stone, pulse quickening with memories she wasn't ready to face.

There he was.

Timothy.

Leaning casually against the railing, a single red flower in hand - always red.

"Hey, girlfriend..." His voice was soft, hopeful, a fragile thing.

She took the flower, fingers brushing his briefly.

"Hey..." Her smile came without effort, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You okay?" Timothy asked, voice gentle. "Rose called. Said she wouldn't be home tonight. Sarah's crashing at her place too, so..."

He stepped closer.

"It's just us now."

Us. The word tasted bitter, stale - like wine gone sour.

She looked away, swallowing down a storm she wasn't ready to weather.

"Come inside," she said instead, voice steady but distant.

Timothy's hand found her arm, tentative, searching for a spark.

She let his fingers linger - a flicker of warmth - then pulled back, soft but firm.

"I'm tired," she whispered, the weight of the day pressing down.

Without another word, she slipped past him, leaving Timothy staring after her - confusion and something like heartbreak clouding his gaze.